Inkstains
by Dessert Maniac
Summary: Five snippets of five girls in a cyberpunk-esque universe where soul gems and grief seeds work as drugs. Someone dies and a lot of people are twisted. [One-shot.] [Dark themes.]


**Warnings: [implied] drug use, swearing, horror.**

 _"Euterpe" by Chelly, from Guilty Crown.  
_

* * *

 **Inkstains**

"Says hundred sixteen," one of them wheezed as she waited for the door to recognize her.

Another snapped, "Tha's only twenty beats higher than five ago. Sure it's legit? Can't feel a damn thing."

 _It could be your constitution, Stranger-san. You look to be more robust than the bleached grass blades about you._

The green beam flickered back and forth, pondering even though it had clear access. Her teeth clenched and she half-blinked to keep her eye from watering.

"Hey… hey… speak fer yerself… 's like that time… y'know, tha' time we… by the dome... y'know? An' the birds flyin' all 'round," a third one said, their sentences getting lost amongst oozing words.

 _Don't you know, though? Soul gems are all the rage now. It's the new gateway drug: it drives you to euphoric heights the first time, and each subsequent use makes you more and more dependent on it. You discover parts of yourself you never knew existed; you become a_ hero _._

"Which time by the dome and with the birds?" the second grumbled. "We've plastered a ton of times there. Then you pissed off that one lo-tek an' here we are."

At last, it let her in, leaving the huddled coats behind with one last intrusion, "'s 'cause you've taken steroids, don'tcha know. Gimme your—" And then she stood alone in her apartment, just as she had stood alone outside.

 _Blasted door needs another patch_.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

Even with the bugs resolved, the short piece of code took an eternity to pass through the system.

She shook her head. "Tomoe Mami. You need a new door," she stated, rising from her seated position and pulling the card from the nape of her neck as she spoke. She nestled the card in a square piece of foam, then slipped it into a generic box and handed it to Tomoe Mami.

Accepting it, Tomoe Mami said, "I suppose it's high time I replaced it. Thank you for your help, though; I'm sorry I wasted your time. How much will it be, Akemi-san?" She pulled out her wallet, fingering one of the credit cards while her left hand clenched around the enclosed code.

"Two grief seeds. One for the code, one for the energy expended," Homura replied.

"Grief seeds?" Eyebrows scrunched and lips pressed together, Mami tucked away her wallet.

Homura nodded, continuing, "An alternative payment today."

"R-right… two grief seeds. That's—that's a fair price, reasonable, and well-deserved," Tomoe Mami murmured, bringing the code to her chest. "Please wait here, I will get them for you. I—will just be a moment, Akemi-san." She hastened from the foyer. To the left, up a flight of stairs, then the echo of her footsteps faded.

Left waiting by the door, Homura settled into a resting position against the right wall, hands clasped in front of her and back ramrod straight.

She counted two minutes and fifty four seconds in between Tomoe Mami's departure and return.

The grief seeds went into their new home in a box in her satchel. Homura inclined her head towards Tomoe Mami, who remained frozen a few steps away, and left.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

 _ **Inc.:**_ _Each seed is unique, and they are all fragile; it takes time to manufacture them._ It lay sprawled on the couch, all fluffy white hair and chubby face and delicate limbs.

Only their breathing and her voice reverberated in the air—faint sound waves languidly bouncing off each other, courtesy of her still-fresh soul gem.

"It's such a pretty design! I don't think you should change it at all. True, they're a little cumbersome, but _definitely_ worth the extra effort you put in them. It's like poetry, soul gems and grief seeds. It'll be all the rage soon enough, don't you worry!"

Ink stains tinted her skin in beautiful color; who wouldn't appreciate such art?

Toying with a stubborn forelock, it only hummed in response. Then, on its screen, a notification popped up in the lower right corner. _**Inc.:**_ _Very soon, it seems._

Fingers, deft and delicate and immaculate, recorded whatever information it had received.

"Who could resist something so pretty… so pretty—have you heard that, hmm, fable about life and death? The one with death as the reaper, life as a beautiful woman, and a dying bird."

Meanwhile, its thoughts manipulated the holographic rubix cube off to the side. It spun every few seconds; soon, it would reset. White shorts rustled every now and then.

 _ **Inc.:**_ _Humans, as I have said countless times, are peculiar in their perception of concepts that will forever remain beyond their reach. Whether or not life is a beautiful lie and death an ugly truth matters not. It is only the perpetual summation of your existences that holds any relevance at all to the greater universe._

A sigh, then an observation: "But you couldn't have come up with _this_ without paying very close attention to how we think."

It shrugged, dismissing its screen and smoothing wrinkles out of its bright white button-up.

Finally, in a series of tight, uniform undulations, it replied, "You find sadistic joy in crushing something as beautiful as a soul gem, as intricate as a grief seed, and injecting its contents into yourself, do you not? Mind games and emotions are the only things of valor your kind as to offer."

Now, if only Inc. would wear something other than white. If only the world _loved_ color.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

Black ink oozed down the length of her hand and arm even as it sunk into her skin. The shards of the seed nicked and drew blood. Twisted bastards, but who was she to protest?

At least getting herself high meant the stupid world would live a little longer.

"Can I see, Kyouko-san?" Pinkie asked, hands clasped beneath her chin all pleading and shit.

"Tch, there's nothin' new, ya know," she replied, but still she stuck out her palms anyway.

While Pinkie gushed over the etches on her damned flesh, Kyouko let her head loll back in order to better enjoy the—false—cleanse. The warmth spread up her arms, to her shoulders, down her back, pooling at the nape of her neck, and all the while her soul felt like it would fly the fuck away from this godawful place.

Honestly, she couldn't tell the difference between this and her soul gem, except for the color. That, and the fact that it took so damn long to really feel the effects, but who the fuck would want to live here any longer than they had to?

Running her tongue over her teeth, she tried to make the goddamn itch go away. "Oi, Pinkie."

"Yeah, Kyouko-san?" Pinkie replied, but of course her eyes didn't look away from the stupid lines—she liked to call it _art_.

Art! As if they could ever, _ever_ compare to the stained glass windows of her father's church!

"Kyouko-san?"

She pulled out a stick of pocky, tapping it against Pinkie's nose.

"E-eh?" she squeaked, jerking back. "What was that for?"

That pout may've stolen miracles from Akemi, but it wasn't going to do shit here. "Did ya forget, Pinkie? Did ya forget that yer best friend's holed up? It's her soul at stake, and _friends_ don't fucking abandon each other—else you're not friends in the first damn place!" For good measure, she jabbed at Pinkie's left shoulder.

Gasping, Pinkie stared back with wide, glazed eyes. The pink swirls that trailed down her arms pulsed with black light; tch, it was no use getting anything from her.

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

Ugly. Ugly and disgusting and awful and stupid and useless and selfish and worthless and twisted and sick and—and—and " _Wrong_."

It wouldn't stay still it rammed against her ribcage and it looked like a—a—disease! "Disease!" The plague a villain a monster a disease!

 _Why wouldn't it go away?_

Why didn't _she_ go away?

Why didn't it _burn_?

Why did it roil in her chest—where—where did she go wrong?

Wrong?

Of course she was wrong. She was—ugly. Diseased— _tainted_ and unworthy of the mantle—the mantle that'd made her like this in the first place. Was it… her jealousy?

 _I can stand him not loving me, but I can't stand him loving her._ I _love her._

 _But a disgusting zombie like me_ —selfish!

"Just look at my skin!" she shrieked and no one heard, no one ever heard, no one cared, cared about the sad little girl—naïve—who thought she could be a—a knight! And save the world and have the girl and—

Diseased. She howled.

She clawed at her skin, behind her ears, at her neck, her legs—her legs and her feet and her waist and her neck it was a plague a plague a contamination it marked her it was her mark a sign of her worthlessness like scabies or—or—or leprosy! And it wouldn't—refused to leave! It lived in her body—had the gall to _live in her body_ and she tried to keep it in but it scraped the meat off her ribs and she scraped the scales off its skin….

"Breathe, Miki Sayaka."

Slime! Slime touched her hands—" _Get off! Off me!_ " It forced her hands into fists, and more slime oozed along her skin; she shuddered, every nerve alight with repulsion.

"Is she—d'ya need more? I got one left, c'mon, Blue, tell me you don't need to mooch off me. You can fend for yerself, ya?"

"Perhaps it is better to kill her before she kills herself."

It wouldn't get off, wouldn't get off get off get off it was cool and refreshing and undeserving! A knife to her skin to peel it all away away off her—the slime and the scales and the— _the impurity_.

"D-don't say that, Akemi. One more day, please…."

"Mercy killing is best for all involved."

"Fuck—jus' because Pinkie doesn't give a fuck anymore doesn't mean _you_ shouldn't!"

 _Kill it._

 _Kill me_.

"Every moment prolongs her agony."

 _Yes… it hurts…._

 _Or… I hurt you. And her. And them._

"Hey, Sayaka. I-I'm gonna miss ya. And—and—'m sorry, okay? You shouldn't've had to—to suffer s-so much. It's—just—fuck, Sayaka. Fuck everything."

"Farewell, Miki Sayaka."

／人◕‿‿◕人＼

 _ **Inc.:**_ _Well, something is better than nothing. We have other girls._

 _ **Kaname Madoka:**_ _Sayaka-chan is dead… and that's all you can say?!_

 _ **Inc.:**_ _Negative emotions are useful. They are the shades used to bring out the light._

 _ **Inc.:**_ _Do you feel regret, Kaname Madoka?_

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 **A/N:** Ehem. I have no idea how to explain this. It started off as a cyberpunk au, because I took a writing class whose theme was cyberpunk, but then it sort of... twisted into playing with Madoka's different character traits and getting different character-interaction combinations.

More thoughts later, maybe, if/when I think about them when I wake up.


End file.
